


Sink Sank Sunk

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [120]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sex Magic, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Loki and Thor visit Alfheim unannounced and find they should have called first.





	Sink Sank Sunk

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: If only you could see yourself through my eyes. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

Loki wakes up wet. He wakes up wet and wanting and with Thor already inside him, thrusting in that mindless, unaware way that signals his brother’s still in the arms of his dreams, the thick swell of his dick be damned.

It’s been like this for two days. Or is it three? Time is such a tricky thing when you’re in the throes of a powerful spell.

They shouldn’t have come to Alfheim unannounced, that much is clear; shouldn’t have been so cavalier as to decide to stay even when the ill-timed nature of their visit was all too clear. It was mating season in the land of the Light Elves, a lovely (if rather lurid) time that at first Loki had revelled in, for if the elves were beautiful as a matter of course, in the cups of their lust, they were incandescent. Within hours of he and Thor’s arrival, the elves were coupling (and tripling) everywhere--in the street, against the walls of candy-colored buildings, in beds of flowers and sweet-smelling grass.

At first, it had amused them both greatly, for though the Light Elves were allies of Asgard, there was something deeply pleasing about seeing even one’s friends laid so gleefully low by their instincts, ancient drives of their bodies, fruits that Yggdrasil had first given rise to long, long ago.

“Will you look at that,” Thor had said as they neared the palace. “Loki, look. There.”

He pointed at the guard’s tower, a pink-spun peak atop which usually stood a single, gorgeous guard dressed in exquisite armor that glowed in the sun. On this day, though, the parapet was far more crowded; Loki could pick out the heads of four men, each in various stages of ecstasy, their bodies tangled into a single, writhing mass.

“Can you imagine such a thing as this on Asgard?” Thor asked. “All work set aside, all study, all the business of the kingdom held a bay for a day so that one might indulge in the pleasure of the flesh?”

Loki had shaken his head and resisted the urge, never far from the surface, to punch his dear brother straight in the mouth. “This isn’t about pleasure, Thor. Isn't that evident? These elves, they aren’t themselves; they’re possessed, as it were, by their own bodies, by the drives of the old ways that today at least are far stronger than their own.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.” Thor’s words had been wistful, his broad face softened by the sink of the sun, by the sounds of sex that surrounded them.

“Did I?”

“Mmmm.” Thor swept a hand through his hair, tangled his fingers in the mess of knotted gold waves. “You did.”

“Is that envy I hear, brother?”

Thor had turned to look at him, his tanned face spread in a wide, tentative smile. “To be honest, being free of one’s senses for a day has its appeal.”

Loki had felt an old twang in his chest, an echo of a rusty bell that had rung too many times in his youth; somehow, he remembered the notes to it, the song of this particular pain. To love in and of itself was a folly; to love one as willful as Thor, a man whose beauty was matched only by his lack of good sense was a disaster. And though it had been many years since Loki had given in to it, had allowed himself to feel haunted, it fascinated him how quickly his heart settled into that uneasy rhythm outside the palace of Alfheim.

And so they had entered the palace, or tried to; and when their efforts were rebuked by some invisible wall, a spell-spine fastened snug over every door and every window, they had turned back towards the bifrost, bemused, not knowing that the die were already cast, their fate neatly sealed by stretch of their hands.

Later, Loki would berate himself for it--of course they shouldn’t have touched the palace’s main doors; of course the damn things would be enchanted. How better to repel one’s enemies during that one pesky day when the ancient drives came to call? Hel, he really was a damned fool.

But in the moment, as they retraced their steps through the city, he'd thought none of this, had known only that the world itself had begun to melt, the air as thick as caramel, the ground beneath their feet as soft as a feathered pillow; _sink_ , Loki had thought as they walked; _sink sank sunk_.

And then the roaring had come, the terrible shriek of fire in his ears, in his skin, and only when he had fallen to the ground did relief come--in the form of his brother’s hands firm and sure in his.

The first touch had unmanned him; the second, made him weep; and only when Thor had dragged him inside somewhere and kissed him, long and desperate and deep, had the earth stopped its shaking, had the flames retreated to a low, fervent hum.

And now it’s been two days of this, three; day upon day of fucking, of staring into Thor’s eyes, of wheezing into a cloud-like pillow as his brother made him come again and again. When Loki’s eyes closed, he wanted sleep, he wanted to eat, and yet the moment his lids rose again, he _wanted_.

Best, he decides, are times like this when he wakes up already full; his clit touched by lightning, by the fat stroke of Thor’s fingers. Even in sleep, his brother is hungry, groaning mindlessly against Loki’s neck as orgasm creeps closer, yet another swell of spunk and heat to be shared.

Two days of this, three, and it shows no signs of abating, the lust between them, the need; if anything, the longer they lie together, the better the pleasure is, the harder it is to separate. The reasonable part of Loki’s mind, dampened by slick and by sweat, wonders if it’s part of the spell: an ever-tightening knot all the better to keep the invaders at bay. But the rest of him is greedy, the rest of him is grateful; the rest of him never wants it to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Very late MM today as I was out of sorts this morning, but giving it the old college try anyway.


End file.
